


By Any Other Name . . .

by SineadRivka



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Confident Jim Kirk, Coping Mechanisms, Depressed Spock, Depression, Depression mention, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Spock, F/F, Gender-Neutral Spock, Jim is a Drag Queen, Jim mentions lots of therapy, M/M, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Protective Bones, Self-Discovery, Spock wears eyeshadow, Tarsus IV, Things get better!, depressed character, dysmorphia, ptsd mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineadRivka/pseuds/SineadRivka
Summary: Spock is a liar. He's lied to himself, and as a result, has lied to the most important people in his life. It ruined his relationship with Nyota, and he fears that it will ruin his relationship with his two closest friends as well. After Altamid, he slips deeper into depression, unable to care for himself and tired of lying to those he cares for most.





	1. Science Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Object of Desire](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/318777) by AshayaTReldai. 



> I've been looking for an amazing fic I read about a TOS Spock letting himself become more gender-neutral, and haven't found it yet. It takes place shortly after the original pilot with Chris Pike, and follows through with Jim and Bones encouraging Spock to follow his dream of what he wants to look like. So he wears eyeshadow, cleans up his eyebrows, and so on. This is my take on that concept in the Kelvin-verse.
> 
> If you know where I can find it, I would love to link this work to it as it was my inspiration!
> 
> Also, if there are ANY inconsistencies, or if I've gotten anything wrong, please let me know. I never wear makeup unless it's for an interview or special occasion, and while I'd love to release my inner Drag King, I'm a long ways off from starting on my drag life journey.

It was terrifying, this sensation.

He stood before his commanding officer to receive his copy of his performance review that was sent to Starfleet before they docked. All personnel disembarking from the Farragut was to receive a month of shore leave until their next assignments were posted. A three-year mission was a long time in space, and the crew he served with had been equal parts xenophobic and entirely accepting of his alien nature. It was less than an ideal situation.

And now, named as Commander for the first time, Spock walked from the transporter pad, a liar to the very core of his being.

~*~

Just under four years passed in this manner. Relationships failed. Crewmates died and were seriously maimed enough for medical discharge from active service. Some stayed in Starfleet or applied to Federation positions, especially if they had minds for diplomacy. Most found a place to simply live out their days.

Spock lay on his good side, staring blankly out the window of his temporary housing. He didn’t want to leave Starfleet, not when Ambassador Spock had shown him the future he may one day possess, aged and dignified at the right hand of his Captian. Spock’s left hand traced the bandage over his right side rhythmically, absently. Hadn’t meditated successfully since Altamid. Hadn’t eaten more than a handful of crackers a day. Drank only tea. Hadn’t contacted anyone on his own power.

The door opened.

Belatedly, Spock realized that the door chime had been going off two rooms away, announcing visitors.

He closed his eyes.

Felt the dip of the bed behind him.

Warmth.

For the first time since Nyota had ceased their relationship three months before, someone was in his bed.

“Spock, you don’t have to say anything. I know.”

He shuddered at the low gravel of his Captain’s voice, thick with an emotion he didn’t dare give in to. He could feel the heat soaking against his frame.

“I’m not leaving. Packed a bag, left it in the living room. Bones is pulling dinner together, gave me the task of helping you out to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

It took a cough before his voice was cleared enough. “You and your husband should be spending time together.”

“We did. And when you missed your follow-up appointment with him to see how your side is doing, we knew that you needed someone to care for you, too.”

Spock whimpered. Everything he wanted but could not have in his life was in his bed and in his kitchen. He could hear the gentle clatter of cooking utensils, a crooning hum pacing the motions.

Jim curled closer, pressing a kiss to tangled, glossy hair. “Hey, now. Hey. I’m here.”

“You _shouldn’t_ be, Jim. Gods and ancestors, you shouldn’t be.”

“Why?” Jim stilled Spock’s hand from the constant tracing of the bandage, his palm warm, slightly moist, but firm. He had never heard Spock invoke any deities before. His voice was gentle, almost awestruck. “Spock, this isn’t just about Altamid, is it.”

“I have lied. I have been lying since I arrived to Earth. I have lied to you, to Leonard, to Nyota, and she ended our relationship when she found out. You will leave, Leonard will leave, and I will have _nobody_.” His breath hitched, hiccupped until he could moan, “ _I have lied,_ Jim. I should not have lived to admit this to you.”

“Spock, _Spock_ , no, please.” Carefully, Jim rolled the half-Vulcan over so they could see each other. “Spock, what’s this about lying?”

And those heartbreaking brown eyes, shattered, watering and darkening with pain.

“Nothing can stop our friendship.” Jim pushed Spock’s bangs out of the way, noting how they had not been trimmed recently, covering the proud sweeps of angled and unkempt eyebrows. “I promise it. Nothing you can say could stop how much we care about you.”

The Vulcan could only shake his head.

“Spock, did you kill any member of my family? Bones’ family?”

“N-no!”

“Have you physically or technologically sabotaged the _Enterprise_?”

“She is my _home_ , Jim! I could never harm her!”

This was bad. Spock never engendered the _Enterprise_ , and often teased his human comrades about their gendering of the ship. Jim pulled Spock closer until their foreheads met. “Then nothing you could say could make me hate you or cut you out of my life. Same with Bones.”

“You . . . you could take offense.”

“What, like hurt feelings? Spock, I doubt it. But listen: you don’t have to say anything right now. In fact, I _don’t_ want you to say anything right now. Not until you’re feeling a little better.” Jim traced the usually-delicate eyebrows, his voice softening.

“You shouldn’t be touching me.”

Blowing air through his lips in a scoff, Jim grunted, “No matter how you’re feeling, you’re not contagious, Spock. C’mon. Up. I know for a fact that they have _amazing_ water showers with, like, a _million_ settings in this building, and you look like you could use some old-fashioned hydrotherapy.”

“I cannot get the wound wet.”

“Psh. Yes, you can.”

“Doctor McCoy—”

“Bones! Can Spock take a shower?” Jim called over his shoulder.

“Shower, yes; bath, no! You have half an hour!” Bones called back. He resumed his humming, interspersed with lyrics from time to time.

“See?” Jim sat up and moved to stand by the side of the twin-sized bed. The back of his hand stroked Spock’s cheek, but caught on stubble. “I’ll stay with you. I can even wash you, shave you, if you don’t want to touch yourself.”

The first thought that Spock had was ‘how did Jim know?’ which was immediately followed by, ‘his mate will eviscerate me.’ He shook his head. “I-I can bathe on my own.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You should not be in such an intimate situation with me.”

Drawing in a deep breath, releasing it with a smile, Jim leaned closer. “Do you honestly think that Len is going to be mad about me helping you? Are you afraid that I’ll try something inappropriate?”

“I . . . I do not want to cause discord between yourself and your husband.”

“Spock, I thought you knew. Len and I let our five-year marriage license lapse four months ago, because we didn’t want to go through annulling it at a later date.”

It was made clear in this statement that they had married sometime in their Academy days. Spoc hadn’t known that they had been together for such a length of time. “You . . . are no longer lovers?”

“Oh, sweetheart, we are, and we always will be. We just realized a few things and didn’t want to re-up sooner than we were ready to.” Jim tugged Spock into a sitting position, hand over the scarred side. “But we’ll chat over dinner about all that. Trust me, he’s fine with me helping you, so long as _you_ are comfortable with my hands on your skin. I know there’ll be some emotional and mental transference . . .”

“Please,” Spock whimpered. “Help me.”

The world darkened, Jim pulling the dark head closer to his heartbeat, murmuring softly and rocking the weeping Vulcan side to side. It took ten minutes to bring Spock to the bathroom for a functional shower, Jim washing _everything_ without Spock being able do to more than lift his arm or tilt his head back into a massaging pulse of water. Jim changed the pattern of the shower into a soft rain, and shaved Spock’s face with careful and thorough motions. A part of Spock’s mind seemed to feel like he was being worshiped. Finally, bundled in a hedonistically large towel that Spock _knew_ hadn’t been in the bathroom this morning, he was set under a heat-lamp while Jim dried off and redressed himself. A smaller towel dried the remaining water out of Spock’s hair, and Jim pulled out a container that Spock hadn’t expected. “Jim, how—”

“I remembered the brand of that hair-dust you use.” He opened it, pouring out about a teaspoon’s worth into one hand, closed the container and contained the dust between his palms. He stood over Spock, rubbing his hands back and forth to distribute the dust evenly, then ran his hands through the short black hair. Spock’s mind flew back to when his arm had broken on an away-mission, and he had needed the help readying himself for Alpha shift. It had been humbling to have Jim help him, but had also brought a new level to their friendship. The gentle teasing and keen eye that his captain had shown in styling his hair had further softened something between them.

The dust coated his hair, keeping the strands straight and smooth, absorbing the excess oil. He was tugged to a standing position, dried off entirely, and redressed in two simple Vulcan robes that Spock hadn’t owned, but were perfectly tailored to him. The inner robe was made from Terran silk in a warm creme, and the woolen outer robe was a dull brick-red, simple and rough-woven to help him keep warm. Thick, soft and woolen socks were slid on, and he was led with a gentle arm around his waist out to the kitchen, keeping his right side close and protected by Jim’s bulk.

Leonard was wiping his hands off from what looked like a final wash before he served the food. Hazel eyes softened, and he came around the kitchen island to cup his hand along Spock’s jaw. Spock’s face crumbled, his head bowed, and he was curled into a firm, comforting embrace, murmured instructions for serving the food given to Jim while he took care of their Vulcan.

Their Vulcan?

 _Their_ Vulcan?

“Why am I _yours_?” Spock managed to gasp out.

Leonard’s voice dropped into a gruff drawl, a tone of voice that Spock had noticed had once been reserved for Jim when they were off-duty together. But somehow, even in the months before Altamid, he had heard a phrase or two in this tone passed his way. “Oh, darlin’. Because we know you ain’t wantin’ nobody else. Ain’t nobody’ll be there the way you need an’ have _always_ needed. We ain’t leavin’ yah t’ wish yourself away t’ nuthin’. We know that Ambassador Spock’s death hit yeh hard, remindin’ you of y’ mortality.” He pulled Spock’s face up just enough to wipe the tears from those oh-so-human eyes. “You’re _ours_ , Spock, because we’ve been _yours_ since you said your first words to Jim in the Kobayashi Maru hearing. Now. Come eat, darlin’.”

Spock followed absently, mind whirling with this revelation. And the smells of Vulcan fusion food finally hit him. He hadn’t known who had been making small batches of Plomeek vindaloo once a month, but with the evidence right under his nose . . . “Leonard, you . . . have been courting me?”

“Yep,” the Georgian man said with a grin. “Had to wait for Jimmy here to come to his senses, and for Uhura to be honest with both herself _and_ with you that things haven’t been right between ya for a while.” He reached his left hand out to stroke along Spock’s neck. “I knew when she made it official . . . and I know she’s moved on. Saw her earlier this week with Christine Chapel. Wanted you to know before scuttlebutt reached ya.”

“But . . .”

“Nope. Eat what you can, an’ then we’re settling down for the night.”

Spock slammed his utensils down, standing up and turning away from the table. “Stop _babying_ me!”

Silence.

Bones didn’t know what to say, but Jim did. His voice was level, warm with his regard towards his first officer. “You said that you were lying, or lying by omission which is more your style, about something that could break our friendships. Does your expression of anger have to do with _that_ or with the fact that you’re being taken care of by two people who want to be here and want to help you because you’re unable to help yourself?”

Jim was right. It wasn’t that he _didn’t want_ to help himself, it was that he _couldn’t_ help himself. He was unable to care for himself right now, and they _weren’t_ babying him; they were doing what they could to help him so that he could lean on them while he worked on helping himself. Spock’s breaths shuddered in and out before he replied shakily, “It is . . . because I have lied by omission.”

“Did you want to clear the air? We don’t have anywhere to be tonight. We don’t even have anywhere to be for the next few weeks, because we’re waiting on the updated warp core components.”

Bones looked between the two men before him before releasing a slow breath, waiting to hear what Spock would say.

It took several moments of silence before the hurried whisper sent goosebumps along his skin.

“I . . . I-hate-looking-like-me.”

Jim stood slowly, reaching over to rest his hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Looking . . . Vulcan?”

“Looking . . . male.”

Leonard leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees while he mentally reviewed Spock’s psych evals. Nothing had indicated transgender thoughts, but there had been some vague phrases that he had compared and found to be in alignment with Vulcan psychology. He watched the body languages of his current and prospective lovers carefully. Spock was a genius, and knew human psychology and the Starfleet regulations and tests inside and out. If he had wanted to hide something from Starfleet, he was more than capable of doing so.

“Okay.” Jim didn’t shrug, but his acceptance was written in the way that he turned himself closer to Spock, the back of his knuckles rubbing along one clothed forearm. “So . . . like, you need gender reassignment surgery?”

The horrified look added to the intrigue.

“Or you just want to be considered more gender-neutral than anything else?” Jim had handled several cases like this in command school, and at least two cases while on the Enterprise. One had to notify their commanding officer of a change in pronouns, after all.

Spock didn’t seem to know what to do with this response. Some form of tension seemed to melt right away from his shoulders, eyes locking with his captain’s. “You . . . do not hate this deception?”

Smiling, tugging Spock back to sit down so Jim could kneel at his feet, the blonde held both of Spock’s hands in his own. “Spock, we can lie to ourselves all our lives. We’re both from societies that are a little stuck in some ways when we’re looking at gender and all that nonsense.” He smiled and stroked his thumbs in little circles over the mounds of Spock’s palms. “But maybe Vulcans are a little more fluid in their views on gender. I’m speaking for both Bones and myself, when I say that we’re not going to be mad at you for not trusting us with this information. Most societies on Earth still follow a standard male-female-nothing-else format, despite everything that science has taught us in the last few centuries. Even Starfleet has some backwards policies and regulations on human and Vulcan genders.”

Spock looked dumbfounded.

Jim simply smiled up at him. “We’re not going to judge you. Hell, tomorrow, if you want to go out, we can do some shopping for things that better suit how you want to express yourself. Maybe get a haircut?”

“No.” The word was out before Spock could take it back, and he stiffened, only to see Jim’s smile.

The blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Okay. No haircut. Want to grow it out?”

“I . . . yes, Jim.”

“Okay.”

“That’s . . . that’s it?”

Jim nodded empathetically, leaning closer. “Of _course_ it’s okay, Spock. You know that there’s no set of regulation haircuts, just aesthetic choices made by cultural mores, and telling people to keep their hair out of their faces. Besides.” And here, he lost composure and a blush crept across his cheeks. “I think you’d look really, _really_ good with long hair. Um.” He realized that he was still holding hands with Spock . . . and that the Vulcan had his own blush starting.

Yeah, he caught Jim’s wave of arousal at the mental image of a long-haired Spock in his science blues.

Len tried not to chuckle at the two, but failed and reached over to at least brush Spock’s hair across his forehead. “Do you want to change pronouns, darlin’?”

“No.” But Spock’s voice was thoughtful. “At least, not at this stage. I am comfortable identifying as male, but . . . _looking_ fully male . . .”

“Then let your hair grow, and we’ll go shopping for cosmetics for your skin tone tomorrow,” Leonard replied with a shrug. He leaned closer. “Jim has some experience with that.”

Dark eyes snapped to the darkening blush on his friend’s face. “Jim?”

“I, uh . . . I put myself through my first university by performing as a drag queen.” He drew in a cleansing breath. “And I didn’t stop my performances when I needed spending money above the little stipend that I received from Starfleet. So yeah, I’ve experience with cosmetics.”

“But you see yourself as male?”

“Yep. All ten inches of me.”

“You fucking liar, Jim,” Len laughed.

Jim grinned. “Okay, jeez. Asshole. Joking aside, I do use male pronouns and I’m comfortable in my skin. It’s taken a _long_ time, though. Lots of trauma work.” He huffed a laugh, smiling easily despite the heavy topic. “You know I was on Tarsus Four. So when I got home, I was checked into an immersive therapy program that helped me learn to love myself and love the body I’m in all over again. My therapist hit a dead-end because I wasn’t eating enough to sustain my body’s needs. I had shattered or covered every reflective surface in my room. I hated looking at myself, but couldn’t see any need to rebuild myself back into a healthy individual.” He shrugged, looking down at the floor before continuing. “So, she brought in a bunch of cheap make-up, put it all on the table, and told me what each thing was for. And then she had me start to apply them to _her_ face, telling her _why_ I hated each part of my _own_ face that the make-up would have covered.”

Spock’s eyes were brimming with tears again. Jim dared to lean up, kissing the falling saltwater away. “It’s okay, Spock. I cried with each new thing. I hated my sunken cheeks, my dead eyes, my scraggly eyebrows, my pale complexion, and most of all, I hated my mouth, because it got me into _so much trouble_. And only after I learned how to address what I hated about myself, she got me to start applying makeup as I spoke out loud how much I loved that area, and how much I wanted to take care of that area. When I hit different weight-goals, she would add something new. We started with blush, eyeshadow, lipstick, and an eyebrow pencil, and I left the therapy center with several contouring techniques that had made people jealous.” He shrugged. “Look. It took me six months from that first day before I could apply lipstick and say ‘I love my mouth, my voice, and I will not be silenced by injustice, hatred, and lies.’ Ginny is a goddamned good therapist, and worked with me because nobody else knew how to handle me.”

“And you . . . became a drag queen?” Spock whispered.

The captain smiled broadly, kissing Spock’s nose. “Naw. I just discovered the queen that was already living inside of me. She’s another facet of who I am, just like admitting that you want long hair and maybe want to wear makeup is another facet of who _you_ are.” Tracing a too-sharp cheekbone, Jim lowered his voice to a whisper. “Please eat, though. We’ll take care of everything else when we all get up tomorrow morning.”

“You’re still staying?”

“Of _course_ we are, darlin’.” Bones smiled, turning back to his Vulcan-fusion curry creation. “Jim, don’t you have a performance coming up soon, anyway? Some charity thing? I know you’re gonna need to update your look. I think Spock could help you with some new fabrics that’ll wrap up those hips of yours real pretty.”

Spock blinked between the two men. “Leonard helps you?”

“Bet your ass he does. Best damn hands in the universe working with the fabric I’ll be draping over myself? He’s brilliant at sewing.”

“And padding,” Len said in a warning tone. “I know for a _fact_ that I’ll have to make new hips for you. I’ll take care of those materials, but the new dress materials are on your paycheck.”

“Yes, dear,” Jim replied, hand reaching out to tap Bones’ cheek. He sat back down at his place on Spock’s other side, digging into his plomeek curry.

The scent re-assaulted Spock’s nose, and he couldn’t keep himself from leaning over his dish and eating (inhaling) his first real meal in four days. Within half an hour, he was cuddled between two warm bodies in just his silk robe, feeling comfortable for the first time in years.


	2. Operations Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the fic that inspired this one! It's by AshayaTReldai, who I've gifted this fic to. I've linked the fic in general to that story, but if you want to skip this chapter and read her phenomenal work, you can [Find It Here!](http://ksarchive.com/viewstory.php?sid=6813)
> 
> **Any persons or aliases mentioned in this fic is purely coincidential. No ill intent or harm is meant upon anyone whose alias is mentioned.**
> 
> One more chapter after this!

Spock stared at his wardrobe, hating every single article of clothing stored in there. Resisting the emotional urge to simply give up, he drew in a breath. Jim and Bones were bickering over the remains of breakfast and coffee. Their easy camaraderie could be enough to push others out of their conversations, if they hadn’t already been mindful of this and made conscious efforts to include anyone in their immediate area. And sometimes, it wasn’t just immediate. Jim was known to start yelling across a room to tease Scotty or Uhura or Sulu; the resulting sass, sarcasm, and biting wit was often enough to have an entire rec room laughing at the scenes.

The Vulcan stopped at his doorway, and both men looked up. He couldn’t seem to find the words, but Jim smiled and stood. “Trouble with clothing choices?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Let’s see what we can do.”

Behind him, Bones started clearing away the dishes. Jim had been up shortly after Spock had startled awake from a nightmare, and had settled his Vulcan with tea while he began breakfast. Len had shuffled out to join them shortly after, a cup of coffee appearing at his left hand within a minute. It seemed that the captain was an accomplished breakfast cook.

So Spock was led back into his room, Jim’s pinky wrapped around his own and tugging him gently along. It was clearly known that Jim’s soft enthusiasm was meant to bolster Spock up, and he wasn’t afraid of Spock reading his mind. It was easy between them as he looked into the wardrobe. “Oh. This is all you have stored here?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck. No wonder you’ve been having worse dysmorphia recently. How do you feel about wearing Vulcan robes in public?”

“You have clearly given this subject much thought, if the robes that you or Leonard have purchased for me—”

“He did. Like I said, he knows how to drape fabric around a body. But continue.”

“They are neutral enough in style that I do not feel . . . ill-at-ease in them. However, they are of a style that is more for the intimacy between those who share a domicile.”

“That’s understandable.” Jim sighed at the very-male outfit options available. “Bones explained the different styles of robes to me one night, and I forgot about how many styles and forms they took, and how symbolic various styles may be. This might be tough. Only the sleeping and house robe survived the crash from Altamid, because they were stored here.”

Spock’s eyes swung towards his blonde friend. “You have been preparing for some time to invite me into your relationship.”

“About two years, yeah.”

“Since . . . the Khan incident?”

“Yep.”

“Fascinating.”

Jim chuckled, shuffling through the hanging clothes before he paused and grinned. “Okay. So we need to do more clothes and robes shopping for you, but how do you feel about _this_ and . . . here. This and this. And if you let me style your hair out of the bowl-cut to hide that it’s growing out, it’ll ad a little extra _oomph_ to the outfit.” He held up the combination with a grin.

Blinking, Spock nodded slowly. “That is . . . more than acceptable. Thank you, Jim.”

“You’re welcome. Get yourself dressed and meet me in the bathroom. And make sure you wear those nice black shoes that I saw to the left! Don’t you dare touch your uniform boots!” He winked and left Spock to his privacy.

When he walked out, tugging the thigh-length tunic down slightly, he didn’t expect Leonard’s eye to travel along his frame in appreciation. Fighting down a blush, Spock murmured, “I do not understand your reaction to this outfit, when you have seen me in far more revealing situations.”

Instead of laughing or belittling the comment, Len simply replied, “Clothing can be played with in a very interesting way. Today, what you’re wearing emphasizes _who you are_ , rather than _what you do_ , like when we’re in our uniforms.” Walking closer, the doctor unbuttoned the top button on the tunic, pinching the shoulder-seams and shuffling the garment side-to-side just enough to have it settle more naturally. Tilting his head to one side, he bit his lip before asking, “Personal question: does your body hair contribute to your sense of dysmorphia?”

This time, Spock _did_ blush. “In . . . some ways.”

“Chest hair?”

“No, but my arms . . .”

“Fair enough. What about your happy trail?”

“My _what_?”

“Bones!” Jim yelped from the bathroom.

And Leonard grinned, reaching up to stroke one eyebrow back into place. “Teasing, Spock. I was going to ask you if you wanted to roll your sleeves up. You look really good in this. Blue’s certainly your color.”

Cheeks and ears still tinged green, Spock nodded his thanks and went to Jim. The man sat him down on the toilet and began to work on his hair, hands soothing away the light embarrassment of being found visually pleasing.

~*~

“Jim, that shade does not suit you.”

They were fabric shopping, and Jim was coming to dead ends. His inspiration he had been working with was going to be something of a grassy-green, “home-grown beauty.” But everything he found was either too gauche, too blah, too puke-ish, or the fabric was simply shit. He groaned, putting the bolt back on the shelf, rubbing at his face.

Bones was already checked out, but he had returned just in time to hear Spock’s sage advice. “He’s right, Jim. Okay, so ‘home-grown beauty’ is probably not going to happen this season.” Leaning a shoulder against the shelf, he eyeballed his lover, biting the inside of his lip while he thought of other themes and ideas.

Spock felt like he was exposed, with his hair artfully pushed in a diagonal, baring most of his forehead. It was a simple style, not pushing him _too_ far out of his comfort zone, but it was enough to relieve part of the tension of looking entirely masculine. He asked, “How many people connect you with your drag persona?”

Jim shook his head. “Not many. I kept distance between myself as a queen and myself as an Academy student. Even though we’re in a much more relaxed age, I didn’t want to have someone scream out that I’m unprofessional in some way.”

“Do you feel it would be safe to ‘out’ yourself?”

Taking a moment, staring at his shoes, Kirk sighed. Drawing those blue orbs up again, he looked at his Vulcan. “What do you have in mind?”

“Play with the ‘golden boy’ aspect that James T. Kirk cultivated in his first years of being a captain. You are secure enough in your position with Starfleet that they wanted you to be a Vice-Admiral this early in your life. You saved most of the crew from the Altamid disaster, and you are in a steady relationship with a man but that doesn’t interfere with your duties as Captain and CMO.”

Jim brushed fingertips along Spock’s cheek. “And we’re courting a Vulcan Prince.”

“I am not—”

“I know your lineage. It’s _almost_ a royal thing by human rationale.” Drawing in a breath, he sighed explosively. “Okay. So the golden-child trope.”

“The golden-child _captain_ trope,” Spock insisted.

Leonard’s face split into a broad grin. “Shave those legs, Jimmy. I know just what you’re going to wear.”

“Oh God the last time I wore a skant, you actually wore me out, Bones.” He opened his mouth, then paused and pulled out a padd, sketching something quickly. “Think you can work with something like this?”

They looked over his shoulder as what looked like a very basic skant began to take form, an asymmetrical neckline exposing the collarbones, formfitting through the torso, and then flared out slightly over the hips. It ended just below the widest parts of the hips, showing off miles and miles of legs. Bones squinted. “That looks like an outdated skant.”

“Alternate-universe version, actually.”

“Gimme.”

Jim handed the padd over, watching upside-down as long lines were added to the skirt of the stant. A thigh-high split was drawn running up along the left side, pointing upwards to where the neckline dipped. Other layers were added, flamboyant and flighty, showing where movement would happen. The wrist-length sleeves were adjusted in favor of bared shoulders and flighty fabric covering the arms. Sequins. Feathers along the black neckline. And then an extravagant headpiece with a sequined Starfleet delta was sketched out.

By the time Bones was done, Jim was about bouncing in place. The surgeon grinned. “You know the fabrics and colors we’ll need for this, Jimmy. Shoo! Spock, stick with me.”

As Jim darted off, grabbing the hover-cart, Spock looked to Leonard with curiosity. “You are quite talented in this field.”

“Why, thank you, Spock.” Len grinned broadly, reaching up to push some hair behind one pointed ear. “You don’t know why I asked you to stay behind.”

“I admit that I am at a loss.”

Pulling out his own padd, Leonard turned the screen on, and Spock felt his breath catch. The hazel-eyed Georgian smiled at the expression he saw. “I’m going to teach you how to do fabric shopping, and we’re going to make this for you.”

“This is . . . beautiful.”

“It’ll be even more beautiful on you. C’mon, darlin’. Jim will find us when he’s done.”

~*~

The next stop was a store devoted entirely to cosmetics. Spock looked up at the sign nervously. It was just himself and Jim, since Bones was on a creative roll and wanted to get started with the various fabrics as soon as he could. The man was virtually _orgasmic_ at the combination of several pounds of fabrics in his hands.

Jim dared to drop a kiss to Spock’s clothed shoulder. “It’s not as scary as it looks. I promise. I’ll fend off the scary store associates that will try to sell you products you don’t need.”

“Will they not wish to test color combinations on my skin?”

“Yeah, but that’s why you have _me_ , remember? I can do all that testing so that you’re not touched by strangers.” Jim flashed him a smile that was both winning and tender. “You’ll have a cosmetics kit by the time we’re done, but nothing superfluous will be in it. I mean it.”

Spock took a deep breath, nodded, and followed Jim into the store. Associates wanted to help them immediately, clearly recognizing their faces, but Jim laughingly warded them off with the promise that he would probably be asking for their help before they left.

They didn’t even start with foundations. Jim brought him over to a station that analyzed the skin of Spock’s face, color, sub-tones, and the tones of blemishes. When the readout showed up on Jim’s padd, he put his own face in to get an update on his own skin, which had suffered some under Altamid’s sun after almost three full years on a spaceship. But he didn’t need to build his kit from scratch; he just needed a few new foundation shades.

It wasn’t at a whirlwind pace, but it was certainly at a steady, swift pace that Spock was brought around the store in a methodical pattern. He appreciated the way that Jim started at basic skin care, then progressed through the various steps of skin care. He had a divided basket of items that were for both red- and green-based skins. And then came the biggest challenge.

“Can I do up your face here, Spock?”

Two halves warred within his mind. One half did not wish to be seen in a vulnerable position, while the other half wanted to explore this new expression of self with Jim. Mentally bracing himself, he nodded, and was immediately grateful for his reaction, since Jim gave a little wriggle and all but dragged him over to where a palette for green-blood-based skins was already set up.

“Okay, close your eyes.”

Sight lost to him, he could focus on touch and sound. Jim’s skin never came into direct contact with his own, despite the almost-constant touch of various tools meant to spread the cosmetics around. It was soothing, in a way that he hadn’t expected. After a time, the patterns became apparent, and he found himself an almost-meditative state. Jim was working the fine details around his eyes when he heard the door open, and a voice as familiar as his own entered.

Jim’s hand froze, then pulled away. “Shit.”

Spock opened his eyes, panicked. But he didn’t expect Jim to steel himself, stretch his neck, and pop a hip up, accentuating his trim waist. It was fascinating to see the resolve flow over Jim’s face, the expression somehow . . . not as masculine as when he was sitting in the center chair. This was a new resolve, a strength of character that Spock had never seen before.

And then he spoke, the tone smooth, relaxed, _feminine_ and pitched low for his ears only. “Did I say you could open your eyes, mister? I’m not done yet.”

Trusting Jim, he closed his eyes. So this was what Jim meant, when he said that he had discovered the queen who had been there all along. She was very rarely that deep beneath the surface, often disguised as the flirtatious side of his personality.

The voices grew closer, and stopped with a choked noise very close by.

Jim hummed, looking up. “Oh, hey! Wasn’t expecting to see you folks here. How’s it going, Uhura, Chapel?” He focused his gaze back down at finalizing the subtle eyeshadow that he had been applying on Spock. No eyeliner, since he was going for a very gentle look. But both pencil and liquid eyeliner would be making their way into the basket before they left.

“Are you . . . giving Spock a makeover?” Chapel asked, blonde curls falling over her shoulders as she leaned around to see what Jim was doing. “Oh, _wow_. You’re _good_ at this!”

“Thank you; I’ve had _years_ of practice.” Pursing his lips, Jim shooed Christine back a step or two. “Spock, look at me?”

When the brown eyes opened, Jim smiled and nodded. “I thought so. Your eyelashes are long and dark enough that you don’t need mascara unless you _really_ want them to pop out.” He grinned. “Which you’re still getting, because it’s a sin to not get it when you’re going to end up needing it later.”

“How do you know how to do makeup, Kirk?” Uhura asked, not coming around to see Spock’s face. Something about how Christine was gaping was unsettling her. She still wasn’t sure that she was comfortable with the idea that a _male_ she had wanted to commit her life to turned out to be more _neutral_. She wasn’t against gender-neutral individuals in general, but in her romantic life, she liked her men to be masculine, and her women to be feminine.

Gesturing with a brush, Jim replied, “Long story, culminates in winning a regional drag queen pageant when I was a teen and never giving up the drag life.” Grinning, he put the brush aside to be sterilized, holding up a mirror for Spock, reflective side facing away. “Grand reveal?”

One eyebrow, now defined and tamed, arched upwards.

With a theatrical flourish, Jim turned the hand mirror around.

Spock _stared_. It was as if all his facial features were pulled out and defined, without looking comical or overdone. Both feminine and masculine traits were evenly highlighted. His cheekbones looked sharpened, his eyebrows perfected, jaw defined and contoured, and a dusting of blue eyeshadow somehow made his eyes look even more brown than he seemed to recall. It was illogical.

For the first time since his puberty began, Spock felt peace in how he looked. Somehow, he refrained from touching his face. Without a word, he handed the mirror back and stood, leaning in to press his forehead to Jim’s, sending gratitude and a strength he didn’t know he still possessed through the skin-to-skin link. Straightening, he turned to face Uhura and Chapel. His ex-girlfriend’s jaw dropped.

“Nyota, it is good to see you. How have your classes been progressing?”

Jim cleaned up the station, listening to his almost-lover take Uhura by surprise, by being entirely professional, simply as if he had run into a simple co-worker. He knew that his crew were taking up continuing education, and some were teaching. Bones was a consulting surgeon, and often spent at least two days on-call for a local emergency surgery theatre.

Picking up the basket with all their cosmetics, Jim stood beside Spock, just in time for Christine to level a fierce look at him. “Uh . . .”

“You are _so_ teaching me your contour methods.”

He pursed his lips, eyeballing her face before nodding slowly. “I’d probably show you some everyday techniques, rather than how I’d normally beat my mug for a performance.” He glanced at Spock and Uhura, who had paused their conversation. “Like, Spock’s face is an everyday look.” He fished his padd out and pulled up a headshot that Bones had snapped right before going onstage. Turning it to them, he grinned proudly. “This was right before I came in at runner-up in the SanFran RuPaul.”

“Holy _shit_ , that was _you?!_ ” Christine clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes bright and excited. Her voice fell into an awed hush. “Oh my _God_ , my _boss_ is _Georgiana O’Queef_!”

Jim _blushed_ , then nodded. He hadn’t realized that he could possibly be recognized. Uhura seemed to squint at him. “I know you say you are, but . . . I saw Georgiana on stage. She’s _nothing_ like you, not body language, not voice, not expressions.”

Spock, who had seen some of Jim’s more famous performances thanks to Bones while fabric shopping, could understand where Uhura was coming from. James T. Kirk was masculine in almost every way that one could think of in the human contexts. Georgiana O’Queef was decidedly female. He could almost sense Jim’s mischievous nature bubbling to the surface. He was not disappointed. And if Spock hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the transition between Captain James T. Kirk and Queen Georgiana O’Queef.

Hips and chest popped, one hand lightly touched his hip while the other moved delicately up to his, no, _her_ face. Eyes demure, and Georgiana leaned forward as if to display the broad bosom, mugging those big blue eyes with a wink. Her voice was soft, higher, but sensuously raspy after several throat injuries. “Don’t be so sure that you know _everything_ about me, sugar.”

Uhura’s mouth opened before she blinked and straightened her neck in shock. “Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, I can admit when I’m wrong. You’re really _her_.”

Shifting back into his rather masculine stance, Jim smiled kindly, eyes dancing with mirth. “The eyebrows are a _bitch_ to glue down, I admit.”

Christine had taken the opportunity to eyeball their basket. “Please tell me that Georgiana’s coming out to play while we’re on the Yorktown?”

“Yep! There’s this fundraiser in a week that I’m going to be performing at as a ‘special return’ to raise some money for a group who is extracting children from the Orion slave rings.” He hefted the basket and tapped his fist against Spock’s deltoid. “If either of you want to attend, send me a message and I’ll put your name on my list of guests so you don’t have to pay out the ass for some of the seats. But we’re off; I still need to replace some leisure clothes. Drop a line!”

Finished with the cosmetics store, Jim looked over to Spock. “So. Clothing next, or are you done for the day?” 

Taking a moment to consider, Spock finally nodded. “Finding leisure clothing that is less overtly masculine would be preferable.”

“I know just the place.” Jim held his arm out in an old-fashioned gesture. Spock felt a blush hit the tips of his ears, and he ducked his head, sliding his hand to rest upon the crook of Jim’s arm, comfortable as his human settled and led him down the street, striking up a conversation about something entirely inane.

Something deep in Spock’s psyche unclenched.

It felt like he could breathe deeply for the first time since Altamid.

~*~

When they arrived back at his home, Spock realized with a shock that he hadn’t been actively counting down the minutes until he could be away from the press of alien emotions. That had been a first for him in several months. Even before the _Enterprise_ had reached Yorktown, he had always been counting the time away, eager to be sliding himself into meditation robes, lowering the lights into a red spectrum and kneeling at his meditation rug.

But today was . . . different. In a very good way.

The drumbeat of classical electronic music met their ears, causing Jim to smile. He thumbed towards the dining area, which had been transformed into a costuming workshop. Leonard was bobbing his head in time with the song as he ran fabric through the sewing machine. Something about the domestic scene comforted Spock. He followed Jim’s tug towards the kitchen, where he was set up with his cosmetics and the box for storing them. “Set them up however you’d like, however makes sense to you. That way, you can put your hand on what you’re looking for without wasting time digging. Everyone sets up their kit differently, so there’s no wrong way.”

And with that, apparently, he was on his own. Jim began cooking up a meal, calling out timing to Leonard, who replied with confirmations. When the pasta dinner and veggies were finished, Len sauntered in, mouth open to comment . . . but it just hung open when he saw Spock.

Jim burst into gales of laughter, holding himself up using the counter. Spock’s blush was faintly visible through the light, everyday makeup that had been applied, but he didn’t look away from the gobsmacked doctor.

And the man smiled, moving over to lean down and kiss the revealed forehead before pulling back. “You look _phenomenal_. Did Jim do this for you, or some associate at the store?”

“Jim applied my cosmetics.”

“Mm. I thought that he might have. He knows how to balance masculinity and femininity pretty damn well with his techniques when he’s paying attention.”

“I have yet to learn any of the application process.”

“Knowing you, darlin’, you’ll do just fine and will have mastered it within the week. Tomorrow, I’ll have you some of your new robes, and I heard the sound of a shopping spree when you and Jim entered.” A light blush dusted Len’s cheeks and he seemed to stumble over what he wanted to say.

Spock held his breath, reaching up to brush his fingers along the scruffy bottom edge of a jaw. The doctor was flustered, embarrassed, but didn’t jerk away at the touch. Spock felt the deep love and regard that was aimed solely at himself, not eclipsed by the bright, burning love that Len felt towards Jim. “What is it, Leonard?”

The man turned as red as an Engineer’s shirt. “Can I help you with making up some outfits tomorrow? Kinda like a ‘play dress-up’ before you have to go out and do whatever y’need to do tomorrow?”

Brown eyes warmed and defrosted slightly. “I would enjoy that very much.”

Jim smiled at the two, eyes warm. It had taken Leonard over a year, and it had taken Jim’s own death for him to realize that he had been lying to himself about his attraction to Spock. He had known, in those last painful minutes, known just how much he loved the Vulcan. And when his eyes had opened and Spock stood before him, Leonard hovering over scanners and readings, Jim knew that he didn’t want to be anywhere else but beside these two in his life.

That was why they had let their marriage contract lapse, after all.

They didn’t want to nullify it so that they could file as a triad, maybe one day in the future. A future that was looking more and more like a reality with every passing moment.

Still smiling, Jim served up dinner, taking up Spock’s other side. If they occasionally leaned and touched shoulders, and if Spock and Bones occasionally touched shoulders, it wasn’t commented upon.


	3. Command Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for the final chapter! All but the first two paragraphs was written on Sunday. We're coming up on a time of year where I am feeling the loss of my father keenly. I feel like I can accomplish very little, and it's hard to keep my nose above the proverbial water while also hoping that several family members are able to do the same. So I wrote this chapter to feel some sort of accomplishment.

Jim woke up sandwiched between two warm bodies trading soft touches over him. Yawning, he resettled himself and let their byplay continue, not barging in on their explorations. He felt Bones lean closer to his back, acknowledging that he was sort-of awake. It was honestly a little nice to not have to be fully engaged, and he relaxed further into the bed, dozing off again.

Some time later, Spock’s fingers, chilled in that way that hands got when the ambient temperature wasn’t high enough, traced over his nose and features. “Jim. It is time to get up.”

Jim groaned, wrapping an arm around Spock’s waist, pulling his lover closer. “Nnnnooooo.”

Bones laughed from the doorway. When had he gotten up? “Jim, you need to shave and get ready for tonight. Get up, darlin’, I got breakfast ready for you and our heat-leech.”

“Spock sleeps in the middle until we can hack the heating system,” Jim grumbled, speech slurred from sleep.

“Jim, that is not necessary.”

“Your hands are cold. You’re cold. We’re hacking the enviro controls.” Jim wrapped a blanket around Spock, tugging him to the table and settling him down for breakfast.

~*~

Spock bit his lip, hearing the shower start. He didn’t realize he had been staring at the door until Leonard draped himself along his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down his arms. “What’s got you in a bother, darlin’?”

The Vulcan didn’t have the words. He looked down at his hands, then away from where he saw the hair across the backs of his hands. He was _furry_. He hated it.

“Go in with Jim.”

“I do not wish to intrude.”

“It won’t be. He was inviting you over breakfast.”

“But . . .”

“Trust me. Go, Spock. Watch him shave. Talk with him. He knows that you’ve had a rough couple of days with your image. You’ve been doing _fantastic_ with your makeup, and we’ve both noticed that you’ve been looking more confident. And that’s sexy to see. I’m going to finish up a few last-minute things for tonight, okay? Go in with Jimbo; I promise you he was inviting you in.”

“And . . . if he was not?”

Leonard walked around Spock to face him, one fingertip tipping that proud chin up. Spock could feel the buzz of Leonard’s surface thoughts and love and desire for both of the men in his life. “Do you honestly think that he will turn away your company, regardless of what form it takes in our lives?”

Not waiting for an answer, Leonard brushed his hand over Spock’s hair, ruffling the slightly-unkept bangs, and turned away to where a spare bedroom had been turned into the sewing room. Spock knew that they had their own quarters not too far away, but they hadn’t yet returned to their domicile since that day where they came to him. He didn’t ask why, for fear that they would assume his question to be reminding them to leave him.

He wouldn’t be able to stand it if they left him now.

Bracing himself, Spock stood and walked to the bathroom, knocking on the door politely. Jim’s cheerful entreaty for him to enter made him think that it was Bones. But when he walked in, seeing the gloriously-masculine body of his lover glistening with water droplets, he couldn’t help but notice the delight that washed over those blue eyes. “Spock! I thought I might had been too obtuse in inviting you in with me.”

“I . . . Leonard reassured me that you wished my presence.”

“He was right.”

“You do not mind me watching you?”

“The worst that’ll happen is Little Jimmy showing off what we’d eventually like to do together.”

It was awful. It was terrible. Tasteless, even.

Spock scoffed to hide his smile at Jim’s awful humor, which only made the man laugh. “You coming in or do you want to stay dry?”

“I do not know yet.”

“That’s cool. I’m just about done washing up. Curious about how shaving goes?” He ducked his head back under the hot streams to continue his routine.

Spock sat upon a stool in the spacious bathroom. It had been turned into a hedonist’s delight over the last few weeks. He wasn’t sure where all the various odds and ends were coming from, but he had the feeling that Jim was behind seventy-five percent of the items that had found their way into the large, warm room. As the humidity rose, Spock turned on the heat lamp and settled himself under it. Perhaps some levels of hedonism were appropriate . . .

“I assumed that shaving would incorporate a lather and a blade or series of blades.”

“That’s more Len’s style; that’s his shaving kit on the shelf over there.”

“I had wondered whose antiques those were.”

“You have to watch him shave his face today; I think you’ll like it. Me?” Jim turned the water off and toweled himself mostly dry. “I like modern tech a little more, and my hair grows back in a little finer.” Unashamed of his nudity, he pulled out a device. “So, back before we developed warp tech, people would laser their unwanted hair off as a permanent solution. _Fortunately_ , tech was developed to simply destroy the hair, and not the hair follicle. _Unfortunately_ , it still leaves an ash on the skin, so it’s better do this while your skin is still damp so that you’re not cleaning ash off every surface in your bathroom.”

Pulling his leg up to rest it on the toilet, he activated the device, drawing a line up his lower leg, and Spock leaned closer to see the fine golden hair dissolve into a light grey ash. Jim moved swiftly, clearly practiced with this process. Within short order, his legs, arms, underarms, chest, and the lower half of his face were hairless and covered with a soft grey ash. He returned to the shower for a short rinse before double-checking to see if he missed any spots. Smiling at his success, he looked up at Spock. “How do I look?”

Brown eyes welled over instantly, much to Spock’s shame. He found himself wrapped in Jim’s embrace, face pressed against a smooth chest. He couldn’t say the words while looking his Captain in the eyes. “I want . . . can you help . . . _Jim_ , please . . .”

“Of course, sweetheart. I wanted you to see the process to decide for yourself what you wanted.”

“How . . . how long does this last?”

“About two weeks, give or take. It’s safe to use this once every four weeks, so that you have enough growth to burn off again. But. Shower first.”

And Jim helped Spock undress, wiping or kissing away every tear. Again, Spock was transfixed by the love and respect that his lovers held for him, evident in their every move around him. As soon as his skin was damp, he held out his arms, shuddering at seeing the thick hair that hid his skin from view. Spock turned his head away.

“No.” Jim turned his face back down to his hands. “I think you need to watch this. At least the first pass, okay?”

“But—”

“Remember what my therapist told me?” Jim pulled one of those beautiful hands up to his face, kissing the pads of his fingertips and making Spock groan at the sight. “Tell me one thing about your hands and arms that you love.”

“I . . . can communicate with them.”

Jim made the first pass along the back, outer edge of Spock’s hand, revealing the green-tinged skin under the dark hair. He rubbed his thumb over the skin, smiling at how smooth it was. Blue eyes drilled into brown. “What else?”

“You love my hands.”

Another sweep completed, and the back of Spock’s hand from wrist to fingertips was now free from the prison of masculine hair growth. Jim tossed a handcloth under the sink faucet and wrung it out to swipe over Spock’s hand, cleaning the ash away. Spock’s vision blurred as he saw the difference between his hands. Fingers trembling, he stroked the smooth skin, then whispered, “I love that you care enough about me to be patient with me.”

“Always, Spock. _Always._ Now, give me your other hand. Once we’re done with hair removal, we’re going to oil your skin.”

“Oil? Not . . .” Spock sniffed, reaching for some toilet paper to wipe at his eyes and nose. “Not that crème?”

“Do I look like I’m going to clog your pores with shitty crèmes that your biology isn’t compatible with? Oil. Then I’m going to do your hair.” Jim leaned in and kissed Spock’s nose with a smile. “We have enough battery power to handle your entire body if you’d like. You just tell me when to stop.”

“Okay.”

When Spock emerged with Jim almost an hour later, each wrapped in a bath sheet and gleaming from the oil while it absorbed into their skins, he found himself staring at an amused Leonard sitting at the kitchen island with coffee and a padd. The doctor left his station and sauntered over, fingertips trailing over a bare hand, up the hairless arm, and across a chest that was free from all hair.

Then the hand slid down and rested over the Vulcan heart, hiding the spring-green scar from view. Something about that motion settled Spock. McCoy hadn’t left him, hadn’t given up on him, and he felt strongly about protecting Spock’s Vulcan heart.

“How do you feel, Spock?”

And all Spock could do was sigh and nod, a small smile dancing around the corners of his lips, tension lines between his freshly-manicured eyebrows and at the corners of his eyes eased into calm smoothness.

~*~

Jim had everything packed up, wearing a casual button-down and jeans, scuffed and worn work boots peeking out. He pointed to different boxes and bags as he mentally catalogued and checked off the items before turning to Leonard and Spock. “Okay. I’m good. Do you want to come with me or meet me there?”

“Give us ten minutes.”

Spock looked panicked. “I . . . I have not . . .” he waved at his face inelegantly.

Jim smiled, cupping a perfectly-smooth cheek with his palm. “You’ll have the mirror next to mine. I’ve already reserved it for you, even though you’re not performing. Remember, I’m a bit neurotic about planning out my performances. Bones usually takes up that space to help me set up.”

“Is that not against competition rules?”

“When I’m _competing_ , that’s one thing entirely, especially when I was competing for the SanFran RuPaul. Everything is on me. But for charity events like this, most queens have a team of people helping them get ready. Some love the solo challenge and think that I’m cheating, though. But that’s why I asked for two mirrors on the row instead of a room to hide away in for a grand reveal.” Jim grinned crookedly. “This shows that I’m doing my own makeup. The worst that they might think is that I’ve taken you on as a protégé.”

“And the best that they might think?”

“Is that you’re sexy and I’ve finally pulled off wooing my first officer after three years.”

A faint blush spread over olive cheeks, but there wasn’t any time for that. Spock nodded and turned to get out of the lounge pants and long tunic into another outfit, but found himself held back by Leonard’s hand on his wrist. He was turned around towards the sewing room door, where a garment bag was hanging. Leonard kissed his jawline. “Just get that pretty blue over-tunic on and put on those shoes we got you yesterday. I’ve got our outfits ready. Trust me?”

Eyes closing and a sigh gusting out through his nose, Spock nodded, relieved. “Yes, Leonard. I trust you.”

~*~

The moment they opened the door to the backstage area, it was utter chaos. And Jim Kirk, the delightful golden man that he was, was grinning broadly, chest expanding in a deep breath.

One queen saw him over her shoulder as she applied the dark contour under her cheekbones, and her jaw dropped. She squealed, turning around and dropping her brush carefully. _“Captain Kirk!!!”_

Silence.

As much silence as there was noise.

Spock looked to McCoy, who seemed to take this in stride, and that was a relief to follow his lead. Jim grinned broadly. “Ladies.”

“Here to woo us or boo us, _Captain_?” a sultry voice from a darker-skinned Andorian called from one end of the row of mirrors, insecurity showing through her sass.

Jim laughed, shrugging one shoulder. “Neither. Here to help raise money for a good cause.”

“Oh? You our MC tonight?”

One of the queens hadn’t turned, focusing on blending her nose into perfection. She laughed and shook her head, leaning back to look at the Andorian while she closed that particular compact. “Bitch, _please_.” She waved over her shoulder. “Georgie-puddin-pie, your mirrors are over here for you and your _sweet, sweet_ sassy-looking loves. Mmm. Been too long since I’ve see your fine curves sashay my way. And with even _more_ arm-candy! Who is _thiiiiiis_?”

Whispers broke out and more people started peering around to frown and squint at the “golden boy of Starfleet,” trying to see why he was called “Georgie.” Was it after his father? After his lover’s home state?

Jim laughed, waving to the stage manager, who nodded affirmation that their final queen of the night had arrived, walking over to do air-kisses with the nonchalant individual. “I didn’t think that you were able to make it to this event, Ginny.”

“And miss seeing you struggle to tuck yourself up on your own? Never! Always had an impressive package.” She smiled at Len and Spock. “I’m Virginny deBusch. Ginny to Georgie and her lovely companions. Have anyone coming in the audience that I can play to, sweeties?”

“Look for a blonde with _really_ light blue eyes sitting with my communications officer.”

“Ooooh! Nyota got your tickets?! Does she remember me?”

“Hard to say.” Jim pulled his makeup out, setting it up with swift, sure movements not unlike when he was doing weapons maintenance with Spock after away missions. The Vulcan watched the byplay and gossip progress, following Leonard’s leads to grab a coat-rack and place it just-so, to put something _here_ , or place something _there_.

He leaned in and asked in a whisper, “What does ‘tucking’ reference? I have heard it several times, now.”

“Queens usually tuck their genitalia back and between their legs for performances and to give it that feminine-smooth look. Less of a bulge.” He watched Jim stand and grab tape, tissue paper, padding for hips and bust, and a fluffy golden robe. “Want to go help him while I set up the next step?”

“I . . .”

“You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable,” Jim murmured, as he passed Spock. He touched fingertips to Spock’s cheek with a smile in passing.

“I believe I will wait here, then.”

As Jim walked off, still very much _Jim_ and not yet _Georgiana_ , Leonard asked, “You ever do someone’s nails before? Like apply nails and paint them?”

“It was something my mother asked for my help with as a child; she would ask my father for their removal, which is a much more . . . intimate situation on Vulcan. Are you not as good with that step as you are with other steps of Jim’s preparation?”

“Yep. I suck at it. I realized we forgot to make a nails appointment for Jim today.”

Finally. _Finally_ something that he could help Jim with. Spock bowed his head, taking the small packet of manicure supplies and setting them out in a familiar pattern. When Jim returned, Spock watched the walk, the pop of hips, and stood, offering his arm to his queen. “May I adorn your nails, Georgiana?”

Georgiana _blushed_ , smiling shyly as she was settled in the chair, padding now in place, robe around those enticing curves. Catcalls and cheers affirmed their actions, and Spock got to work, memory and motions perfect. Long nails were swiftly applied and cemented in place, then shaped and sanded down. “Shorter, or will this suffice?”

The supple hands seemed thinner, smaller, with the elongated-yet-still-blank nails applied. Georgiana ran through some motions, eyes chips of ice as she mugged and grinned into the mirror. She practiced picking a few cosmetics up, put them down, and grinned, voice husky and soft. Enticing. “Perfect, Mister Spock.”

“What shall I call you, then?” Spock reclaimed one hand to give the nails one final inspection while Leonard began unzipping the garment bags and going over each piece of fabric with a critical eye. “You have very rarely allowed me to address you outside of duty as anything other than a nickname.”

“Ana?” she whispered hopefully.

“Ana, then,” Spock confirmed, a small smile hovering around his eyes. This environment with its lack of overt, _toxic_ masculinity was a balm to his _katra_. And seeing his Jim, his _Ana_ , react to him and transform before him, was a rare gift. “Shall I address thee as Lady Ana?” He looked to the dress, a shining, shimmering rich gold, then back to the five options for nail polish, picking out the yellow-gold and painting each nail on her ring-fingers to begin the nail art.

Silence, and one hand pulled away from his grasp.

Spock looked up, afraid he’d overstepped, but the blue eyes were watery, the hand held up over her mouth, and Leonard was giving him a thumbs-up with a grinning nod. So he raised an eyebrow and asked, “After all, were we in my ancestor’s times, my pedigree would demand that I court no being less than nobility.”

Georgiana smiled, nodding speechlessly, and Spock bowed his head, continuing the manicure. Before long, the rest of the queen’s nails were a glossy black, the ring fingers standing out with a perfect Starfleet Command delta in gold framed around the edges in black. Leonard eyed the nails with a keen gaze, nodding. “Perfect. Understated but bold nails. Damn fine job, Spock. All right, you get yourself prettied up . . . I can help Lady Ana with the rest.”

“Bones!”

“What? It’s a better nickname than ‘Georgie,’ thank fuck. Our hobgoblin sure knows how to turn name people.”

Spock cleaned up the manicure supplies and settled himself in to get his makeup applied. A cheer came ringing up from one end of the room, heralding the VIP ticketholders who paid a _lot_ extra for the prestige of seeing several galaxy-famous drag queens preparing for their performances. Spock refused to feel like an outsider or that he didn’t belong here. He was with his lovers and was part of Jim’s team, regardless of which identity was prevalent. His presence here was important, necessary, and vital to the performance. Finishing the last swipe of mascara, he eyed his reflection critically, noting what he could do better next time, but feeling confident in the softer, more feminine face.

“Spock.”

The voice was not one he had heard in almost a year. His eyes focused over his shoulder in the mirror. No censure, no judgement, no surprise, and thankfully, no controlled anger or frustration lined the tones his father used. It was perfectly neutral. This was different, but very, very good.

“Father.”

Bones cursed creatively. “We gonna have it out here, Ambassador?”

The Vulcan strode forward, another handful of Vulcans staring almost in accusation at the younger member of their race wearing human cosmetics. But Sarek simply indicated that Spock look left and right before nodding his approval. “This is well-applied; I am pleased to see that you are continuing your studies in cosmetology. I dare say I am curious regarding the techniques you have learned.” Turning, he bowed in respect to the other two members of the _Enterprise_ command crew. “May I remain with you through the final stages of your transformation?”

“It’d be my honor, Ambassador,” Georgiana drawled in a soft midwestern accent, giving every ounce to the performance. She winked at him. “Georgiana O’Queef at your . . . well, service will do, as you’re Vulcan an’ don’t _do_ pleasure.”

“Jeezus, don’t flirt with our boyfriend’s father,” Leonard groaned, swatting at Ana’s shoulder. “You’ll give the other Vulcans cardiac arrest. Spock, you’re simpler to get dressed for tonight, and I’m in a suit. C’mere.”

Spock stood, offering his father his seat to watch as Ana continued the final stages of makeup. “I must admit to my shock that you are attending this event, Father. Though, I am also pleased to see you.”

“I had planned to visit you earlier. However, when I arrived, you were still recovering from your wounds obtained on Altamid. James and Leonard were kind enough to offer me the use of their domicile while I attended to unexpected and extended matters here on _Yorktown_. They insisted that you would not mind their presence in your own living space. And, from what I am seeing, you have found two delightful mates who balance you quite well.”

Spock blushed, but offered a soft thanks in his first language. His father indicated that he show his hands, then spoke softly, under the swell of conversation to mask his words from the other Vulcan delegates. “I am glad to see that your skin suffered no ill effect from the hair removal process. Your mother was unable to use the laser devices after she moved to Vulcan.”

“Did Mother know?” The question was out, blurted in a way that was reminiscent of the insatiably curious child Spock had once been.

“Indeed. She insisted that it was a ‘mother’s intuition.’ I in my prideful masculinity denied that remarkable intuition until she demonstrated to me the artistry you were capable of with her manicures. I assume that Georgiana displays your handiwork?”

The queen grinned, wiggling her fingers and nodding while Spock’s attention was drawn to Leonard again. The human man unzipped the mystery garment bag, revealing amber and golden robes in the most neutral Vulcan patterns he was able to find and replicate with sewing machine. They offset his skin tone perfectly, with a deep black neckline that was both severe and soft in texture. Before Spock could move, his father stood and inspected the garment with a critical eye, hands clasped before him. “Where did you come across a set of _ta’raf gus-sha’es_ robes of this quality?”

Bones froze. “I made a . . . set of _what_ now?”

“Father, Leonard crafted the outfit he had chosen for me to wear tonight. Len, the phrase he used was ‘gender neutral identity robes.’” Spock translated. And then his mind caught up with what he just said. “Is . . . my . . . my _condition_ something that is well-known to our people, Father?”

“Condition, he calls it, like there’s _something wrong_ with you as you are, Spock, fuck,” Ana grumbled, reaching over and brushing fingertips along the back of his smooth hand. “There’s _nothing wrong_ with you _or_ your expression of your own damn self.”

Sarek’s voice remained low, but gained intensity. “My beloved child, do you believe yourself _deficient_ in some way because you do not adhere to a masculine or feminine gender identity? You are _spo’k’hat’n’dlawa_ , resembling half of each my own and my dear Amanda’s hearts and souls. It was never my intention to force you into an expression of self, but rather to help guide you into your own understanding of yourself. What you experience is not a condition, but rather a known variable in our people. Many of those who are _ta’raf gus-sha’es_ were mediators between clans, priests and monks, individuals who did not feel the need to express one gender over another. It is rumored without confirmation that Surak was sired by such an individual. Unfortunately, in such times as this, even gender must be a polarizing issue among our people.”

“Well said.” Georgiana smiled genuinely before standing from her seat, fingers tracing along Spock’s left bicep. “I’m not going to be much company tonight after performing, but Spock, would you be okay if we continued this chat tonight?”

“I . . . would greatly enjoy speaking more upon this matter tonight.”

Sarek nodded, eyes softening slightly. “I am grateful for your invitation. Spock, will you need assistance with your robes?”

Seeing the words for the peace offering that it was, Spock inclined his head. “As it is my first time wearing this style of robes, I would appreciate your help, Father.” He noticed that the other Vulcans continued to watch the proceedings silently. For once, he did not give one single _fuck_ about their opinion of him or his work. Drawing himself up taller, he let his voice take on the tones that often carried. “But I would prefer only your company and assistance; it is a valuable cultural exchange for the others of your party to experience the various points of gender expression across the entire spectrum at tonight’s events.”

“I agree, my child.” Taking the garment bag and leaving the shoes for Spock to bring along, Sarek glanced at him with a decidedly smug look upon his face. They heard Ginny squeal at the clear permission to bother the Vulcans. “That was positively wicked and I should chastise that behavior. However, I find myself far too amused at your disregard for outdated, over-emphasized, and overzealous repression of self.”

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations, after all. One does not and _should not_ need to repress the self in order to live a logical life.”

“Perceptive. Many never expected the young half-Vulcan to refuse entry into the Vulcan Science Academy. Nor did they anticipate this child to bring every talent to Starfleet. Now, you lead the way into further understanding of that flexible ideal set in place by Surak. Well done, Spock. You have come a long way, and, if I may quote my Lady Amanda, you have a very proud father.”

And when Spock saw himself in a long mirror, with hair grown long and tucked behind his ear and robes that both slimmed and accentuated his form, he felt himself take a deep breath. His father stood to his right side in traditional male Ambassadorial robes, hands folded with head high and eyes happy. Leonard came up behind him, arms loosely draped around Spock’s waist and chin resting over one shoulder. And his beautiful Jim _and_ Lady Ana in one sweet, sassy package as Georgiana O’Queef, sauntered over with her dress close to bursting around every curve, to take his hand and kiss his knuckles.

In this moment, this fleeting breath of silence before the lights flashed and bass thudded through his dense bones . . .

Spock was complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ta’raf gus-sha’es_ = neutral gender expression/identity. Phrase hobbled together using the VLD. If the phrase needs tweaking any, please let me know.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> On a very personal note, I wrote this story while struggling with my own identity expression. I still identify as cis-gender female, and I don't believe that will change. But a friend gave me the term "demi-female" as a way to express my gender identity, and I'm still searching that out in myself and "trying it on" as I go.
> 
> I've stopped wearing makeup, even to the point of not bothering to put on makeup while going to job interviews. Got a job anyway. I'm finding myself happier in more neutral clothing after trying for _years_ to keep up with certain "looks" or "styles." I always return to jeans, sneakers or workboots, and t-shirts. And button-down flannel shirts from the "men's" department. I have yet to be called "sir" again, but I've got more weight on my hips and chest to be mistaken for male. It's never easy to work through your own baggage to find the small baubles of truth hiding in the layers of bullshit that surround our every move. But it's worth the struggle. Feeling comfortable in your skin is worth every moment of that soul-searching.
> 
> **If you are struggling and need help, please don't hold it in. Don't implode, dearhearts. I'll miss you. Instead, please contact one of the following groups or a counselor or someone you trust and who can help carry you to seasoned, licensed professionals who are ready and waiting to help you through your dark times. The holiday season is _always_ the worst time; please be gentle with yourself and don't deny it if you need assistance.**
> 
> [The Trevor Project: Get Help Now](https://www.thetrevorproject.org/get-help-now)   
>  [GoodTherapy.com Resources: Finda a Counselor](https://www.goodtherapy.org/learn-about-therapy/issues/lgbt-issues)   
>  [TransGenderPulse: Gender Therapists](https://www.transgenderpulse.com/gender-therapists/)
> 
> _If you have any other resources that you would like to see listed, or have better resources to replace the examples above, please do not hesitate to tell me about them. You can find me here, or, if you would prefer to leave an anonymous message, you can find me on Tumblr as SineadRivka. My anon function is never disabled, for better or worse._


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